


Friends in Low Places

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Hispanic Karkat, mentions of racism/racial profiling, my spanish isn't very good so if i fucked up i apologize
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, now you've gone and done it.</p><p>For years, you've been lectured consistently by your dad and your brother because they've always been completely convinced that your short temper would one day get you in serious trouble. You don't really consider an overnight lockup "serious trouble," but you still know that you're going to get an earful when they come to pick you up in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in Low Places

**Author's Note:**

> hey look, something that isn't porn. anne gave me this idea (karkat and terezi meet in overnight lockup because karkat assaulted an officer and terezi was in a riot, shenanigans ensue, etc.) and i kind of took it and ran with it because i thought it'd be cute. she also got me really into the hispanic karkat headcanon, damn her.

Well, now you've gone and done it. 

For years, you've been lectured consistently by your dad and your brother because they've always been completely convinced that your short temper would one day get you in serious trouble. You don't really consider an overnight lockup "serious trouble," but you still know that you're going to get an earful when they come to pick you up in the morning. 

That particular thought makes you cringe. Kankri will no doubt have plenty of thinly veiled, passive-aggressive remarks about how you're promoting racial stereotypes. Your father, on the other hand, will just shake his head and give you that sad frown that he seems to reserve for the occasions on which you fuck something up. You can already hear the words that every kid almost instinctively dreads: "I'm very disappointed in you."

Even when you're given an opportunity to say anything in your defense, you won't be able to justify your actions to them. They may share your blood, but not your deep-seated anger or hatred towards everything. 

So maybe you'd cussed out the police officer who had pulled you over to conduct a drug search out of the blue, and perhaps things would have gotten violent if he hadn't called over his partner to restrain you. It wasn't your fault! Everything was going perfectly fine until he just had to go and make a racist comment. You remember seeing red and before you knew what was happening, you were being roughly handcuffed and shoved into the back of the police car. 

It's hard, being a young Latino and growing up in America. It's hard and no one understands. 

You're grateful for the current lack of company in the holding cell. All you want is peace and quiet. Yet you realize pretty quickly that solitude was too much to ask for when you hear voices outside. You shoot a resentful glare at the door as it opens, hoping to at least dissuade whoever's disturbing your volatile thoughts from trying to interact with you. 

The girl you assume is your new cellmate has a presence that's impossible to ignore. She's small and twig-like, though she looks like she's about your age. At first glance, she seems almost fragile, her feral grin tells you that her clothing is hiding more sharp edges than should be possible for any person to have. Her blue eyes are piercing like ice, her choppy ginger hair falling unevenly around her face and stopping at her jutting shoulders. 

And she's _loud_. Your ears ring with the sound of her cackle as it echoes around the tiny room. "Aw, look at that! You even made sure I wouldn't be all lonely in here. My, you officers sure are hospitable!" She laughs again and you swear you see the officer with her glance at the gun on his belt. 

"Can it, Pyrope. And try to behave yourself, since this poor kid's stuck with you."

She yelps in surprise when he gives her a rough push, then clucks her tongue in indignation. "Well, that's no way to treat a lady! I'm retracting my previous statement!"

The officer grumbles something like "you're no lady" under his breath as he leaves, slamming the door behind him. 

The girl -- Pyrope, apparently -- flips him the bird through the window as he locks the door, snickering at his expression as he stomps away. "Oh, but we were having so much fun!"

A nervous lump forms in the back of your throat as she turns toward you and you briefly wonder if she has this kind of effect on everyone unfortunate enough to encounter her. 

"So," she begins casually, sitting down on the bench opposite you, "what are you in for?"

You remain quiet, trying to ignore her. 

"Should I take your silence as an attempt to avoid conversation?"

You decide to pull the card that only comes in handy when you don't want to talk to people. " _Lo siento. No hablo inglés._ " You don't normally like to use this excuse, but at least it usually gets the _gringos_ to back off. You prefer Spanish to English, anyway. 

Pyrope leans forward and narrows her eyes, studying you carefully. You try not to squirm uncomfortably under her steely gaze. 

After a silence that seems to last hours, she sits back and crosses her arms. "You're lying." 

Your eyes widen in surprise. " _Qué-- ¿cómo lo sabes?_ " 

"Well, I have no idea what you just said, but you just gave yourself away with your reaction. Plus, you refused to make eye contact with me when you made your claim, which leads me to the conclusion that you do at least understand English... though you probably speak it, too." She smirks, looking infuriatingly self-satisfied. 

You stare at her with almost reluctant awe. "Damn. I guess the jig is up. Okay, fine. Yes, I speak English, even though it's a stupid and ugly language. There wouldn't be much point in going to school in America if I didn't, now, would there?" You sigh heavily, rubbing your forehead. 

She nods. "Makes sense. Why did you lie to me?"

You shrug, looking down at your lap. "I don't like talking with people all that much. Especially people that I just fucking met."

"Then you could have just said so," she insists. "I don't like it when people are dishonest with me, whether or not I've just met them. And I figured since we're going to be here all night, I might as well make the best of it by trying to be civil, since sitting here and staring at the walls the entire time would be boring as hell."

"... Sorry. I'm just used to people leaving me alone when I lie to them."

She gives you a stern look. "Apology accepted... as long as you manage to tell me the truth from now on."

"Fair enough. Looks like I'm an honest man for the next twelve hours or so."

That wide and disconcerting smile returns to her face. "Can you at least tell me your name? Then I'll leave you alone, promise."

"... It's Karkat. And yours is... Pyrope, right?"

"Yep. Terezi Pyrope, to be exact. Nice to meet you-- or, I'm sure it would be, if it were under different circumstances." Terezi extends her hand to shake, which is a gesture you're not used to. 

You examine her hand warily before taking it. "Uh, sure."

She gives it a firm shake before pulling back, then swings her legs up and stretches her body out to cover the bench. "Ugh, just as comfortable as ever," she grumbles to no one in particular, shifting around irritably. 

You cock an eyebrow at her. "You've been put in here before?" 

"Oh? I thought you didn't like talking to people you've just met," she teases, a glint of mischief in her eye. 

You huff. "Don't get so full of yourself, you just got me curious, that's all." 

She folds her arms behind her head nonchalantly. "All right. Yeah, I think this is my... sixth time in here? Maybe the seventh. I'm pretty much on a first name basis with the staff. They give me the five-star treatment and everything!" 

"No fucking way," you argue. "I'm pretty sure they'll only dump you in here for a couple times before you have to do community service or time in juvie." 

She chuckles sheepishly. "Ha, you're normally right. I guess you could say that I'm kind of a special case. America likes to go on and on about how it's such a free and fair country, but people can get let off easy if they have the right connections and stuff. Or money, even." 

"You bribed someone?" 

"What? No, of course not. That was kind of an irrelevant comment. My mom happens to be on really good terms with the city court." Her brow furrows thoughtfully. "I usually wouldn't want to use my connections to get special privileges. I just haven't done anything wrong to begin with." 

You fix her with a confused look. "Then why are you even here?" 

She stubbornly replies, "Nope, I asked you first. You tell me your reason and I'll tell you mine."

You let out another thick, exasperated sigh. "Uy... fine. It's basically because I'm Mexican."

She snorts disbelievingly. "That's it?" 

"Well, okay, no," you admit. "I might've gone off on a police officer and called him a few unflattering things... but he was asking for it. I mean, this douchecanoe has the nerve to pull me over to do a drug search -- which he probably wouldn't have even done if I wasn't brown -- and everything's totally fine until he's finished and realizes that I'm clean. Then, instead of apologizing for wasting my fucking time or even just stepping off without another word, he has to make some smartass comment about my ethnicity and how it relates to the distribution of marijuana. So, yeah, I got pissed off, but I had a right to be. The worst part is that he gets to pass this off as 'assault' and make me look like an adolescent thug." You don't even notice how easily your anger's been reignited until you finish and feel that your breathing's gotten heavy. With a defeated groan, you let yourself slump against the wall tiredly, closing your eyes. "Fuck."

You feel her weight settle itself next to you and look up at her in surprise.

"Hey, the system is pretty fucked up, I'm not gonna lie. I should know. But fighting it directly won't get you anywhere. Maybe work on that temper of yours so it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass later, then find more discreet ways of being defiant."

You didn't expect that. "I almost thought you were going to tell me not to use my race as an excuse."

"Oh, please. White people only like to tell minorities that because they're afraid of having their societal advantages compromised," she scoffs. 

You don't think you've ever found a _gringa_ so endearing in your life. 

Clearing your throat, you recover your composure. "Yeah. But, um, that's enough about me. It's your turn. What'd you do to land yourself in here?"

"Participate in a riot," she says with such a casual air that she almost convinces you what she did wasn't that bad. 

It takes a moment for the reality of her statement to hit you like a brick to the face. "Wait, what?"

She shrugs. "Most of the other times I've been in here have been for peaceful protests that annoyed city hall enough to send the authorities in to try and force us to leave. There have been a couple mosh pits, too. Today was the first time things got really violent, though. People actually got hurt. I'm pretty sure no one was killed, but it was pretty bad." Her expression hardens. 

"We weren't causing any harm. A few of the people who organized the protest went to try and talk to them, but they were arrested on the spot. When protestors started getting angry, the police retaliated with force. They actually beat people up, like they were trying to make examples of us." She curls her lip in disgust.

"They only managed to get a few good hits on me because it was so chaotic. A lot of us managed to escape, but I didn't. I was so close, too..." With a bitter laugh, she adds, "Kinda makes me feel like there's a higher-up who's got it out for me. But I guess that's pretty egotistical, isn't it?" 

"Not really," you reason, "Sometimes I feel like whatever god or higher power might exist likes to see how many ways he can make my life as shitty as possible in a single day, just for fun. Then he sits back and laughs at my misery."

"Maybe it's because you're not white," she jokes, referring to your cynical statement earlier. 

"Yeah, that's got to be it. God is a racist _pendejo_."

"All the people in power these days are, didn't you know?" she chuckles. "Then again, my family's white privilege can only go so far. Mom's been told that the next time I start 'causing trouble' I'll be sent to a juvenile correctional facility a few months." She wrinkles her nose disdainfully. 

"So... you have to stop?" 

"Ha! Of course not. Not until I can actually make a difference, and justice is served." Her grin takes on a hint of malice. "The more they threaten me, the more hell I'll give 'em." 

That's when an unspoken friendship takes root, slowly pushing your prejudices to the back of your troubled mind and allowing you to feel admiration for someone who's nothing like you. No one's ever expressed sympathy for you before, but it makes you feel like the world despises you a little less. 

As the night drags on and you lose track of the hours spent hating authority and discussing rebellion, you hardly notice how close you're sitting to her now and how easy it is to talk to her. There's something about the way she takes everything in stride and laughs despair away that makes opening up less frightening. You've completely forgotten how intimidating she really is. 

When exhaustion washes over you and your eyelids finally begin to droop, it occurs to you that she's fallen asleep and is snoring softly, her head resting on your shoulder. Maybe if you weren't so tired or you had met her under different circumstances, having her in your personal space like this would bother you more. 

Likewise, perhaps waking up next to her would bother you more if you weren't better rested than any of the times you'd slept alone in your own bed.

\-- -- -- 

When you're finally given back your cell phone and anything else the police had confiscated from you, you're told to wait in the lobby for your legal guardian to pick you up. You stand by one of the windows facing the street, watching for your dad's car with a growing sense of dread. 

You hear Terezi enter the lobby, her manic laughter recognizable anywhere. "Well, it's definitely been fun, you guys, but try not to miss me too much! I'll be back again eventually!" She gets several loud groans in response.

There's a tap on your shoulder. "Hey, Karkat." 

You turn, but before you're given the chance to say anything you're pulled into a short hug. Your face grows warmer when you feel something slide into your back pocket, then she steps back just as quickly. "See you around," she says with a wink, then turns on her heel and heads straight out the door, blatantly ignoring the shouted attempts to get her to stop and wait for her guardian. 

You're stunned for a minute, your hand drifting subconsciously to your pocket. You feel the crinkle of paper in between your fingers and pull out a small, folded-up note. Carefully opening it, you discover a phone number that you assume is hers, along with a short message:

"We should hang out again sometime, when we're not in trouble with the law. 

Think you can handle being an honest man for a while longer? Call me. >;]

\- TZ"

You stare at the note until the sound of the front door opening brings you back to reality. 

Your older brother strides into the room and upon spotting you makes his way over, looking down over his nose at you condescendingly. "Well, Karkat, I must say that I never expected this, even out of you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" 

You blink up at him dumbly. "I got a girl's number."


End file.
